Dreaming With a Broken Heart
by racefh853629
Summary: When you're dreaming with a broken heart, waking up is the hardest part.  You roll outta bed and down on your knees, and for the moment, you can hardly breathe.  Oneshot.


A/N: I don't own any recognized entity, including (but not limited to) CSI, CBS, and the song "Dreaming With a Broken Heart" by John Mayer, which is used for the title and in the summary. The story is set between seasons one and two, as an FYI. This story may get confusing, so let me explain this here. Until the secondary character is introduce, the story is from the point of view of the character as if he were talking about himself in the third person. And I say this because there are details that show up later that weren't mentioned, and that's the reason. Anyway, enjoy the one-shot, and please review.

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Dreaming with a Broken Heart 

He rolled into bed, curling tightly into a ball as he exhaled deeply. He fought off lonely chills from the lack of presence beside him. His partner, his love, was gone, had up and left him alone in the cold emptiness of an apartment missing a member.

Alone. The word was a resounding theme of late. The lack of love in his life attributed to his lack of luster. Without that, he had no desire to be around anyone, and people were rushing to get away from him. No longer would they pause and chat while waiting for their results. They would come only when paged, and he would hand them their results without a word.

Maybe his solitude was partially his fault, but he could not help but feel alone. His apartment was empty, looked desolate, and no matter how many lamps illuminated the area, it still looked dark and dismal. That forced solitude at home made working pleasantly in the lab that much more difficult. Yet his coworkers did not seem to understand it.

Maybe they would, if he cared to explain. But he remained silent, never saying a word to them more than he had to. Maybe that was cold, and the reason no one bothered with him anymore. Because how do you talk to someone who will not talk back? He shook his head. As much as it hurt, he had to admit that his isolation was his fault.

It was his fault. Always his fault. And maybe he had all of it coming, because he was a bad person, always had been. At least that was what he heard all the time from just about everyone who ever knew him, so it had to be true.

He sniffled, fighting back tears. He was going to be stronger than this. He was not going to cry himself to sleep in his solitude. Not again tonight. He clutched his knees tighter into his chest, controlling his breathing. His heart ached, and his twisted mind came up with as many ways as it could to end it quickly, none of them any good. He squeezed his eyes tighter, shaking his head. No. He was not going to do any of that. Not tonight.

He internally began counting, taking a breath with every number. Controlling his mind, he bored his brain into a light sleep, devoid of much of anything. He was disrupted by a knock half an hour into it, and he awoke easily. Not any more rested than previously, he stood on shaky legs, wondering who in the world was even bothering with him right now. He thought he had alienated everyone by this point.

He reached the front door, pulling it open slowly to find her standing there, the sunlight illuminating her brown hair like a halo. She eyed him suspiciously, probably thinking about whether or not he was actually sober. He stepped aside silently, allowing her to enter. She nodded graciously, walking in to his living room. He closed the door and turned to her, his eyes silently asking her why she was there.

"What's going on with you?" she asked bluntly. Tact and subtlety were never her things. He shrugged, saying nothing as he walked into the apartment more. She stood in front of him, putting her hands gently on his cheeks. Her hands were surprisingly warm to his frigid body, and he nearly jumped at the touch. "Are you okay?"

"Can I get you something?" he asked softly, desperate to avoid the subject. He did not want to talk about how he screwed up yet again. About how the love of his life walked out on him again. About how he was doomed to live alone.

"I'm fine. Don't change the subject." He shook his head. Never try to hide something from a CSI, because they will eventually find it. "Come on. Talk to me. To someone. You've been holed up in your lab for almost a week in this bitter, depressed mood. I'm worried about you." He sighed, his eyes betraying his hidden swirl of emotions. He was unsure how to even begin. He closed his eyes gently, and he felt her move closer to him. He felt the heat radiating off his body, trying to warm the frozen depths of his soul. She brushed his cheek softly, and he flinched. "What happened, Greg?"

"Leave it, Sara," he whispered, desperate to get away from this tango of emotions. He wanted to tell her everything, but she would hate him and turn away from him if he did. He heard the movement of her head as she shook it.

"I can't, Greg," she told him. "You've been hurt, and I can't just leave it alone."

"Please, I'm asking you, leave it alone. Don't go there."

"Who hurt you, Greg?"

"No one."

"Your cheek is swollen and bruised. How long has it been like that?"

"Since earlier tonight, okay? Can we leave it alone?" He opened his eyes, staring at her and praying she would pick up on his pain. On the fact that he just did not want to talk about it. She shook her head, and he knew she was ignoring his wishes.

"I'm not letting this go. You should know better than anyone that I don't give up." He sighed, walking away from her and sitting on the couch. He brought his knees to his chest, and she knelt beside him. "What else hurts, Greg? You're limping."

"My leg, okay? It's nothing."

"Greg, come on. That's not nothing."

"It is because I'm saying it is, Sara. Back off." She shook her head.

"I'm not backing off," she told him.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"Because I'm worried about you."

"Why?"

"You haven't been yourself for a while. You've either been really angry or really quiet, and I know neither of them are really you. You can't deny that there's something going on, Greg."

"Sure I can. Apparently you won't believe me."

"Why should I? You're hurting. You weren't even moving tonight at work if you didn't have to. What's going on? Please, stop lying to me." He sighed, looking into her eyes. Sincerity stared back at him, and he sighed softly.

"Last week, I came home from work, and Kayla had moved most of her shit out," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "No note, no nothing, so I tried calling her a few times. She didn't answer, and I knew it was over. I stopped trying to call her, but today she showed up with her new boyfriend to get the rest of it. She and I had some words, and he broke it up with his fists, and she yelled at him and took him out. I just went to work, because I just wanted to forget about all of this." His head dropped down, staring at his legs. "I deserved it. It was my fault."

"How do you figure?" she probed softly. He looked up to her eyes.

"It's always my fault." She took his hands in hers, squeezing them gently.

"It is not. You didn't do anything wrong. You're a great person, Greg. You've done nothing wrong." He shrugged.

"With all due respect, Sara, you haven't known me that long." She shrugged.

"That may be true, but from what I have seen, you don't deserve for things like this to happen." He shrugged, standing and letting go of her hands as he walked away a bit.

"Your opinion." She shook her head, understanding the brush off. She had done it enough times herself. Push it all aside to avoid anymore talk of the subject. But before she would be satisfied, she had to ask one more question.

"Is there anything I can do?" He looked over at her before shaking his head.

"No. This is something I gotta do on my own." She nodded her understanding.

"Okay. Well, if you ever need anything…"

"I'll call you," he said softly. She smiled slightly, standing and putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Hang in there," she told him. "Broken hearts are the worst." He shrugged.

"It's not my first, Sara. And I highly doubt it'll be my last." She gave him a slight frown.

"I know. The road to the right person is laid with broken hearts and promises."

"Yeah." He fell silent for a moment before looking up at her. "Thanks."

"Any time. I'll let you get back to sleeping." He furrowed his brow.

"How'd you know I was sleeping?"

"Your pajamas gave it away." He looked down to his penguin pants and white tank top before looking back up at her.

"Right. Thanks again."

"Any time." She gave him a quick, gentle hug before showing herself out. He sighed softly, fatigue finally sweeping over him and causing him to go crashing back on his bed to dream away his broken heart.


End file.
